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PO E MS,

BY

DR. GOLDSMITH.

VOL. 11.

B

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WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age !
Scarce half-alive, oppress'd with many a year,
What in the name of dotage drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;
Unaw'd by power, and unappal'd by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear:
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all my hoard of honour is no more;
For ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine;

* This translation was first printed in one of our Author's earliest works, “ The Present State of Learning in Europe." 12mo. 1759; but was omitted in the second edition, which appeared in 1774.

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Him I obey, whom Heaven itself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin'd to please.
Here then at once I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame
No more my titles shall my children tell,
The old buffoon will fit my name as well;
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.

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